


Drug Problem

by Nyxelestia



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drugs, Episode 1.13 - Mama's Here Now, Episode Tag, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Vague References to Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxelestia/pseuds/Nyxelestia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When Connor had gone to his usual Adderall hook-up and made his request, she took one look at him and said, “Is this your first time taking coke?”</i>
</p><p>Connor's alibi doesn't stay a lie for long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drug Problem

**Author's Note:**

> Mainlined almost all of How To Get Away With Murder in one go and ended up pounding this out in like a day. It's set post-1.13, which is why I'm publishing this un-beta'd and un-edited by myself - I want to get it out before 1.14 airs. It's done for now, but I may end up continuing this/writing a sequel, depending on how the season finale goes.

When Connor had gone to his usual Adderall hook-up and made his request, she took one look at him and said, “Is this your first time taking coke?”

“No,” he said. It was technically true. A few hits every now and then at a party. Not a problem at all. “Just my first time actually buying it for myself. I’m used to just…flirting it off of people.”

“Flirting?” she asked wryly, raising her eyebrow.

“Something like that,” Connor sad vaguely, letting her draw her own conclusions. “Or even just having it offered to me. But I’ve gone this long unable to get any the way I used to, might as well get it directly. I can’t go to parties to the right parties anymore, and everyone else I know who has it is not keen on sharing. Law school, y’know.”

“I know,” she said, and she probably _did_ understand because it’s not like med school was much better. “I don’t sell coke, but I know who does.”

Luckily for Connor, it was someone else in the med school – buying from fellow law students seemed like a recipe for disaster – and by the end of the day, he had a small dime bag of coke inside an Advil bottle. It stayed there for the rest of the week, and Connor didn’t even look at it until yet another one of their study groups that weekend – one of the ones which wasn’t, really, because Rebecca was there and Asher wasn’t.

Hilariously enough, though, they actually did study some, Rebecca clumsily reading off quiz questions for them and passing around flash cards and books over all the Sam Keating investigation files.

It turned out that studying for a midterm and covering up a murder were exhausting, so when they were all lagging, Connor smirked at them all slumped over their books (and Rebecca against the wall). “I may have something to help.”

Rebecca actually laughed when he pulled the eight-ball out, and Wes and Laurel rolled their eyes.

Michaela looked actually shocked, though. “I thought you only made up a drug problem?”

“Wait,” Rebecca said, curious. “You made up a drug problem?”

“…I had a nervous break-down on my ex-boyfriend’s doorstep the night of the…” Connor waved vaguely towards the Sam Keating files, and the budding amusement drained out of her face. “Next morning, I lied and said I had a drug problem.”

“I thought we were lying to him when we played along at the bar,” Michaela said.

“You were, because it’s not actually a _problem_ ,” Connor said. “I’ve taken plenty, before, but they never caused a breakdown, not even an addiction. So, want any?”

Unsurprisingly, they all chorused, “No!” Michaela was the most indignant about it, Laurel and Wes exasperated, and Rebecca…it was just as hard as ever to read her.

“Before you take it,” Rebecca said, leaning forward over her knees. “Where’d you get it from?”

“From a med student,” Connor said.

“The pre-oncologist or the pre-cardiologist?” Rebecca asked.

Connor blinked in surprise. “Uh, I don’t know what his specialty was-”

“Pre-cardio,” Rebecca said, nodding with satisfaction and leaning back again. “His stuff is good, you’ll be fine.”

“…does this mean if I bought it from a female pre-med student, it wouldn’t be?” he asked, worried, because that might happen in the future.

“I can’t believe you’re talking about this,” Laurel said, looking just _done_ with them, before turning her attention to Rebecca. “I thought you were done dealing?”

“I am!” she said. “But if he’s going to develop a drug problem, might as well make sure he doesn’t kill himself in the process. I know most of the dealers around here.”

“I’m _not_ going to develop a drug problem,” Connor cut in.

“Really?” Laurel asked, looking right at his little bag.

“You tried to offer me Adderall, before, too,” Michaela said. “I’m starting to worry just how much we weren’t lying when we met Hacker Boy.”

“What was he like, by the way?” Rebecca said, leaning forward with an amused-again smile on her face. “I feel like I know the guy already after seeing his profile on Connor’s screen so much.”

“I do not-” Connor started.

“He’s adorable,” Michaela said immediately.

As Michaela, Wes, and Laurel dived into their teasing, Connor rolled his eyes…and put the cocaine away.

He didn’t need it.

~*~

Of course, murder or not, they were still law students, and it was less than a week later that Connor finally pulled out the little bag for real. He had to make some very embarrassing Google searches about how to actually take cocaine – supplemented by random searches on drug law, so it looked like he’d just been researching for a case, just in case someone ever went looking through his computer history.

The pre-game triple-shot of vodka was probably unnecessary, but fuck it, he was probably going to end up in prison, soon, anyway – what did he care?

He felt ridiculous, but he took out a piece of paper he could throw away and poured out just a little bit of coke onto it, divided it up into careful lines, and pulled out one of those tiny coffee-stirring straws, already cut up to just around the width of a dollar bill.

It was just white powder, and people probably _died_ over this stuff, and oh god the last thing Connor needed to think about was people dying, that was why he was taking this-

No. He was taking this because he was bored. That’s it.

Actually _taking_ the coke felt oddly anti-climactic, right until it kicked in and _holy shit_ no wonder people were willing to pay so much money for this feeling. He’d usually been drunk by the time he took the coke, but now, _now_ …

He actually gasped, in the lonely quiet of his tiny apartment with only the latest music from Spotify to keep him company. He thought his heart might beat right out of his chest and skip across town, the way it was going, and he couldn’t even stay in his seat, he had to had to _had_ to move.

Well, there went his plan to study. Why the hell did med students use this so much, again? Whatever, he knew, he could imagine how this would feel if he’d taken this when he was exhausted and on the brink of collapse, but he hadn’t, he’d taken it after a long day of crappy classes and a bad day at the firm and the discovery of Sam’s body and-

He had to get the hell out of here. He didn’t know where, he didn’t even _care_ where, but he had to get out.

He also knew he had to get away from the bag of cocaine, because he already wanted to take more, and he already knew he couldn’t.

It was the most natural thing in the world, so obvious that he had to stop to remind himself to change into his running clothes, and then he went out the door with nothing but his phone, listening to the most amazing soundtrack of life as he ran, ran, ran through town without paying attention.

He would never outrun Sam’s dead eyes staring at him from a pool of blood, but like this, Connor almost felt like he could.

Almost.

Because the thing about coke was that it didn’t last long. Connor had taken his hit, and then a little more than was advisable, but not much because the drug didn’t work that way and like hell he was going to overdose the first time he took it outside of a booze-and-drug soaked house party.

Still, it was probably the most fitting thing in the world to find himself coming down off that high less than a block away from Oliver’s building.

Connor had no idea why he came here (that was his story and he was sticking to it).

He couldn’t go up there. He shouldn’t. He should go home, and if not get rid of the drugs then at least put it away for a day when he really, truly, and desperately needed it.

He shouldn’t drag Oliver into this.

But he had nothing but his phone on him, and he already knew the comedown was gonna suck, and he didn’t want to walk home in chilly evening like that, especially he when he was already soaked with sweat in the middle of winter.

Oliver was going to kill him. Worse, Oliver was going to be disappointed in him, and what was Connor’s life, now, first he goes and covers up a murder and now he’s dreading disappointing someone.

Still – he couldn’t walk back through a comedown. He couldn’t risk going home just to take more coke. And…

…he wanted to see Oliver, because at his core, Connor was a selfish, greedy little asshole and he wanted Oliver.

It wasn’t completely faded yet, though, so with a final wave goodbye at his last semblance of human decency – of the part of him that should have listened to Biceps and never gone near Oliver again – he ran towards the building, into it, up the stairs and up again, until he was knocking rapidly on Oliver’s door while slumping against the doorjamb.

“Connor?” Oliver asked, startled. Probably not expecting Connor to be so close to him when he answered the door. Definitely not expecting Connor at all.

“Hey,” Connor said, long and drawn out and soaking in the sight of his not-boyfriend in his ugly sweats and also-ugly-but-deliciously-fitted tee. “Howya doing?”

“I’m…fine…” Oliver said warily, stepping back to let Connor into the apartment again. “Did you run over here again?”

“Yeah!” Connor said, pushing himself up until he was standing in Oliver’s living room, bouncing in place and wondering what the hell he was going to do now.

“Connor,” Oliver said as he closed the door. “What’s – are you okay?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but found that he couldn’t, because what _was_ the answer? He felt like he was on top of the world, and in a moment he was going to feel like he was at the bottom of it. Because Oliver had done his research, and learned the signs, and there was no way Connor could-

There it was. The long-suffering face, as Oliver closed his eyes in frustration, breathed in deep, then opened his eyes again and said, “What did you take?”

“I din’t-”

“What did you take?” Oliver repeated, voice as stern as he could manage while his hands fluttered to his hips in his attempt at authority.

“…just some coke,” Connor muttered.

“Just some coke? ‘Just’!?” Oliver asked incredulously.

“Like, two lines,” Connor said. “Small ones. Not-”

“I don’t care how much it was, Connor, you still took it!”

Connor froze, wide-eyed, because it wasn’t the first time Oliver had snapped at him, but somehow it hurt more than it ever had before – which was stupid, probably the fault of the coke, but…

He swallowed, and when Oliver turned away, rubbing his face in exhaustion, Connor shook himself out of his reverie and started heading for the door again. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have come here-”

“Oh, no, you came _exactly_ where you should be,” Oliver said, turning on the spot and reaching out to grab Connor’s arm. It wasn’t a rough touch, or a firm one, but Connor froze on the spot again.

“Oliver…” Connor said, trying to figure out what to say and unable to find the words and hating it all the while. Was this how people without charm felt all the time?

Was this how _Oliver_ felt all the time?

Oliver dragged Connor back into the living room, then through it to the bathroom.

“Take a shower,” he said curtly, shoving Connor into the bathroom but not following. “I’ve got some of your clothes here, they’ll be on the floor outside when you’re done.”

“Oliver, I-”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence before Oliver closed the door. It wasn’t like Connor couldn’t just open it again, but that wasn’t exactly the point.

With a dejected sigh, he turned around and went into the shower.

~*~

The horrific sense of déjà vu hit right around the time the cocaine well and truly started to wear off.

Staring at the shower knob and no longer even feeling the water sluice over him, Connor stared and stared and stared at the drain, trying not to remember seeing the faint trickles of Sam’s blood and ash from his burning body spiraling around it the night of the murder, before disappearing into the drain’s depths along with the rest of the physical traces of what he’d done.

He didn’t know how long he stood in there, standing and staring and shaking through the cocaine comedown, but it was long enough that Oliver started pounding on the door, startling Connor out of his waking nightmare.

“Are you all right?” Oliver called out.

“I’m fine!” Connor immediately shouted back. He took a deep breath, two, three, just to steady his voice, and said, “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“If you’re sure,” Oliver said, clearly doubtful. Why he was giving Connor the benefit of the doubt, he had no idea. “Clothes on the floor for you.”

“Thank you,” Connor said, cursing his wavering voice but unable to do anything about it. Why was he even shaking, still? He turned his face desperately into the stream. The water was warm, the bathroom was warm, the apartment was warm… _Oliver_ was warm. Hot. All of that.

No, no, just warm, because hot was the bonfire that burned Sam’s body, the heart-pounding fear of the police searching Professor Keating’s house, and oh god Connor was going to burn, too.

It took two tries to find the shower knob, but he immediately turned it as cold as it would go without just shutting off the water, and then he pressed his forearm against his mouth and clamped down to keep his screaming in.

Like this, could pretend he only wanted to cry out because of the sudden temperature change. If nothing else, at least he had a good reason to be shivering, now.

By the time he shut off the water, he had no idea what time it was or how long he was in here, but he knew he couldn’t bend his fingers and instead of feeling better, all he could think of was how cold his fingers had been when trying to grip that stupid ax while dismembering Sam’s charred remains.

He was never going to outrun this, and Connor had no idea why he’d thought he ever could.

After a ridiculous five minutes it took to pull on only boxers, a tank top, and sweatpants, he shuffled his way out into the living room, where Oliver was setting out two mugs of something steaming. God, Connor hoped it was coffee, he could barely move right now.

He dropped onto the couch on the opposite end from Oliver, wrapping himself around a pillow and staring at the mug, trying to work up the energy to reach out, pick it up, and not drop it.

“How are you doing?” Oliver asked.

“M’fine,” Connor managed to force out, still looking at the mug, the table, at anything that wasn’t Oliver.

“Fine? Fine?!” Oliver said. “You look like you’re about to shake right out of your own skin. Connor – I know what a comedown is. I know it isn’t pretty.”

Connor laughed, a vicious sound that scraped its way out of his throat before he could hold it in.

“Connor…” Oliver said suddenly. “What…what happened to your arm?”

A bit of blinking, and a bit more mustering of energy to turn his head, he managed to look down at his right arm, which was normal, then the left arm, which was normal except for his fading bite mark. It would be gone in less than an hour, less than half an hour probably, but against his even, unblemished skin, it stood out so much.

He didn’t say anything, just staring at the mark.

“Connor,” Oliver said, holding out his hand. “Let me see. What happened? How – did you _bite_ yourself?”

“Trying to keep quiet,” Connor said defensively, wanting to cross his arms but not having the energy to move them.

“Keep quiet? From what?” Frowning, Oliver actually reached over to grab his wrist. “Why would you need to…oh my god, Connor, you’re freezing!”

Connor chuckled humorlessly. “Cold shower.”

“What-” Oliver shook his head, actually moving closer and wrapping his arms around Connor. His hands fluttered a little when he felt how cold Connor’s skin still was, even several minutes out of the shower, but Oliver still pulled him close. “What was going on that you needed to keep quiet?”

Dropping his head onto Oliver’s shoulder, Connor confessed, “Nothing.”

“Nothing? You expect me to believe that?” Oliver said. “I’d ask if you were jerking off in there or something, but if it was a _cold_ shower…”

Connor shrugged with the shoulder away from Oliver. “I…d’you ever want to just scream? Start screaming and never, ever stop?”

Oliver didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t seem to breathe.

“Just want the world to stop for a bit,” Connor said, staring sightlessly at the little logo at the top of Oliver’s TV. “And then it doesn’t.”

Slowly, Oliver’s arms wound around him tightened, until Connor was basically cuddled into him, and this was so far beneath him but he just didn’t even care, right now.

“These walls aren’t soundproofed, so I don’t think actually screaming is a good idea,” Oliver said. “But…don’t just lock it inside, okay? Tell me, or let me help you find a way to…to let it out. That’s what I’m here for.”

Connor closed his eyes and shook his head. “But I can’t.”

“Oh yeah?” Oliver demanded, and Connor hated how grateful he was that Oliver’s grip on him never loosened. “And why not?”

“You’re a good guy,” Connor murmured. “And I’m not. You don’t…you shouldn’t have to put up with me and my crap.”

“You’re right,” Oliver said, and Connor squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. “I shouldn’t have to put up with your crap, but I do, and I will, because I…I care for you.”

Connor slowly opened his eyes, his face dropped enough that he was staring at Oliver’s knee, now.

“…the night you got drunk, after meeting my friends,” Connor said. “You…you said-”

“I said I loved you,” Oliver said, and Connor locked up, frozen like he was in that cold shower all over again. “And I’m sorry it took too much drinking to be able to tell you that, but I meant it.” Then, Oliver took a deep breath, warm chest rising and falling against the side of Connor’s cold face. “But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to let you do whatever you want. I’m going to help you, but you need to do your part, too.”

Connor frowned at Oliver’s knee.

“Why?”

“What – what do you mean why? I just said-”

“But why do you love me?” Connor asked. “I’m…I’m an asshole. The only good things about me are that I look good and I’m good at sex, and you – you enjoy that, but you don’t _want_ that. Why me?”

He turned his face downward, only barely stopping him from tucking it into Oliver’s neck entirely.

“You deserve so much better,” Connor said hoarsely. “Why me?”

He could feel Oliver swallow, throat bobbing against the back of Connor’s head.

“That’s not something I’ve always thought of,” Oliver said. “I’m usually so busy wondering the same thing. You can have anyone you want, but you want me. That never stopped confusing the hell out of me.”

Well that was stupid. So what if Connor could have anyone he wanted? That didn’t mean a damn thing in the long run.

“You make me feel like someone else,” Oliver said quietly. “Not like I have to be someone else, but like I can be. Yeah, you’re hot and good in bed, but that’s not why I love you. You’re charming, and you’re funny, and you’re fun to be around. You…you make me feel better. I don’t really have any more to add than that. I like being around you. I want to be around you a lot, even if sometimes you drive me nuts.”

Connor turned that over in his head.

“You have low standards,” Connor said finally. “But I’m going to take advantage of them, anyway.”

Oliver laughed at that, and Connor smiled. He liked making Oliver laugh.

“That’s fine,” Oliver said, and pressed his lips to the top of Connor’s head – not exactly a kiss, but embarrassingly reassuring, nonetheless. “I want you to.” He paused. “Maybe in my bed?”

Connor grinned as he looked up, only for Oliver to immediate shake his head. “Not like that – you need to warm up, and I want to hold you. It’s more comfortable, there.”

“You sure?” Connor said, _looking_ at Oliver in the way that always drove him nuts and usually ended with his pants off.

Oliver smiled, but nodded. “I’m sure. If it makes you feel better, you can think of this as payback for not having sex with me when I was drunk.”

Connor groaned in mock-regret as Oliver pushed him up, before standing and dragging Connor up and to the bedroom.

They both fell in, and Connor messed up the sheets immediately in his attempts to try and get under them. His limbs weren’t cooperating, but Oliver’s were and he helped Connor, and that was okay, especially since he was still laughing when he wrapped his arms around Connor. He would never admit it, but he leaned into Oliver’s touch, desperate to have more of the other man’s skin against his own.

“Go to sleep,” Oliver commanded, pulling Connor close.

It was sick, what he was doing. Oliver didn’t deserve to be dragged into Connor’s mess, which was basically his entire life. And he knew that he _did_ have a problem, even though it wasn’t a drug problem…which is exactly why he knew he probably wouldn’t stay away from drugs forever, anyway. At least partly to forget that he was an accomplice to murder, and mostly to keep up the alibi to hide that fact – he would eventually go back.

But probably not anytime soon, and _definitely_ not tonight.

Pressing an absent kiss to the part of Oliver’s arm his lips could reach, he said, “I do too, you know – love you,” and smiled in relief when Oliver just said, “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you thing. The good, the bad, the ugly - I love to hear both criticism and compliments, as it all helps me make my writing better.


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